


Wolves

by halfsweet



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Suspense, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 14:38:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12509672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfsweet/pseuds/halfsweet
Summary: Brendon finally finds out the truth about the Government and witches, and now it's a race against time to get Patrick out to safety before the Government gets to him.





	Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> Based off Wolves by Selena Gomez and Marshmello, sooooo it's highly recommended to read this while listening to that song :)) 
> 
> Wrote this on my phone (again) because I still have yet to get a new laptop
> 
> Unedited bc it's already midnight here, but enjoy anyway :)

Shit.  _Shit._

This isn't supposed to happen. He thought he'd been extra careful the whole time. His hands are moving as fast as they can as he makes a backup of all his downloaded confidential files and deletes everything on his hard drive. While his computer is still copying the files, he rushes to his closet, grabbing a backpack on his way and stuffing a bunch of shirts inside it.

As he moves to grab a folder on his desk, he spots another car approaching his house; a bunch of men in suits are already waiting outside. His stomach drops to his feet when a truck stops outside, and out rushes the Special Ops with their weapons and armours.

He needs to get out.  _Fast._

He shoves the folder inside his bag and grabs his wallet, forgoing his keys and phone. He knows everyone's on the search for him by now, so he can't risk going anywhere by car, and they'll no doubt be able to track him if he brings his phone along.

A gruff voice begins to give instructions, and he glances back to his computer, where it's still in the middle of copying his files.

Fuck it. He can't waste a second longer. His life— _Patrick’s_ life—is on the line.

He grabs his external hard disk, disrupting its process, and dumps it inside his bag before proceeding to wipe out everything on his computer. The floor is vibrating underneath his feet—they are definitely inside his house right now—and that's the last thing on his mind before he climbs out the window.

As soon as he reaches the ground, he runs to a dark alley, nothing illuminating the passageway except for the moonlight. It's too dark to see anything—he definitely needs a new pair of glasses after this—but he pulls through, placing his hands on the brick wall, searching for something,  _anything,_ that feels out of place.

_“This town was built more than a thousand years ago. Witches then had to build secret passageway, in case people were after them. They masked everything when they were caught, and those who weren't would stay safe in the passageways. It's long abandoned since, and no one knows this, but the passages are still there.”_

He tries to remember the town's old blueprint that Patrick showed him back then. He knows it was supposed to be here somewhere. His body is quickly growing hotter in frustration despite the chilly midnight air.

“Where the fuck—” He cries out in triumph when he feels it. He doesn't know how to explain it, but he can feel the  _energy_ from a section of the wall.

He doesn't have time to dwell on it as he pressed on the area, and the wall opens up for him. He quickly runs inside, not looking back as the wall closes behind him, and torches light themselves up as he maneuvers his way along the passage.

Right now, he only has one destination.

Patrick.

-

The forest is eerie at night—midnight, to be exact. Everywhere he turns, everywhere he looks, he can almost feel a pair of eyes watching him. It's not the first time he's felt like this. In fact, he has always felt it whenever he comes to the forest to see Patrick.

Although, at this moment, he'd rather them be demons than the government people.

He still can't believe what he just found out. For years—centuries, even  _millenniums—_ people were taught that witches are evil, but God how wrong were they.

He used to believe it too, but since he met Patrick, a convicted witch who was casted off to the middle of forest and charmed so that he can't use his magic, his perspective towards witches has changed.

Witches aren't evil. The Government are.

Patrick wasn't the one who burned down the labs and the hospitals and did all those alleged acts.

He was  _framed_ because he's a  _witch,_ and the Government covered up all their doings by blaming everything on him. Who would believe a  _witch_ over the  _Government?_

Fury grows within him. All his life, he's been fed with lies after lies, and the first time he actually learned the truth, it may just cost him his life. And Patrick's.

Patrick's small cottage— _house prison_ —is just a little over in the distance, but he can see it. He sprints towards the direction, not really caring if his legs are feeling like they're about to fall off or if his lungs are about to collapse from exertion.

When he reaches the cottage, he immediately slams the door open, swinging it off its hinges.

“Patrick!” He calls out, dashing to the bedroom and finding the witch on the bed, sleepily rubbing his eyes.

“Brendon…?”

He grabs Patrick by the hand, not waiting for him to snap out of his sleepy haze or even offering him an explanation.

“Wait, Brendon, what—”

“We need to go! Now!” He continues dragging him outside, a small part of him relieved when Patrick doesn't resist.

“But you know I can't step out for—”

“I don't care.” He interrupts the witch, gripping Patrick's wrist tighter as his pace quickens, Patrick stumbling behind trying to catch up to him. “I'm getting you out of here. You're innocent. You didn't do any of those things.”

“But they—”

“They're a bunch of lying fucks.” He growls. “I know everything. You weren't the one who burned all those buildings down. You tried to tell the truth, but they didn't believe you because  _they're_ the ones who did it. They made you the scapegoat for whatever they're planning.”

Patrick's quiet for a while behind him, and the only sounds heard in the forest are their footsteps and their breathings. He pauses in his tracks, looking around to figure out  _where_  they're actually heading. He doesn't really think this far—so far, his plan consists of getting Patrick out of the house.

Then, the small sound of a snapped twig breaks his thoughts and sends his blood cold. He holds Patrick's hand tighter, Patrick doing the same.

“Brendon.” Patrick steps closer to him, his hand cold and shaking.

The light rays coming from several directions forces his legs to run again, and he pulls Patrick behind him, their hands never once letting go or even loosening.

He feels like collapsing. His sides are aching, like they're being stabbed multiple times, but he needs to keep moving. Needs to get them to safety.

Even though he doesn't know where he's supposed to be going—they're probably just running around in circles—he carries on, refusing to stop for even just a second. The Government have found them somehow, or maybe they're already here at the forest to take, no,  _burn_ Patrick and make it look like an accident.

That thought causes a wave of anger to surge in his veins as he unconsciously grips Patrick's hand, missing the small wince of pain from the witch.

He's spent a fair amount of time with Patrick ever since that fateful day when he accidentally stumbled into Patrick's small prison house.

He has come to learn a lot about him. About the other side of the history of the town.

He even has grown to love him.

He wants to laugh at the irony; the supposedly heartless witch actually has the biggest heart to offer.

And he'll be damned if he let anyone take Patrick away from him.

He stops in surprise when he feels Patrick tugging him backwards, and his heart lurches in his throat when he sees Patrick on his knees, doubling over as he places a hand on the ground to support himself, the other gripping at his chest.

_Fuck._

How can he forget about Patrick's  _asthma?_

Patrick's panting and wheezing on the ground, coughing even, and it sounds hurt and painful and  _fuck, what did he just do?_

“Patrick.” He crouches down in front of Patrick, voice soft as he gently places his hand in Patrick's shoulder. “Deep breaths, come on. Where's your inhaler?”

“I—” Patrick wheezes again, unable to even get a word out, but he eventually manages to shake his head in answer.

He wraps his arm around Patrick, guilt flooding him as Patrick attempts to catch his breath. What are they supposed to do now? They've run this far, and they  _need_ to keep going.

And he refuses to leave Patrick behind.

“G— go.” Patrick rasps out, still clutching his chest.

He shoots Patrick a stern glare. “I'm not leaving you. I won't let them take you either.”

“I—” Patrick heaves a chesty cough, now almost curling up on the ground, “I c— can't—”

“Patrick.” He clenches his jaws together because  _no._ Patrick opens his eyes to look at him, blue and heavy with resignation and tears. The sight makes his throat constrict. Patrick can't give up  _now._

Before Patrick can open his mouth, he places his arm across Patrick's back, the other behind his knees, and lifts him up.

“I'm not leaving you.” He repeats, his voice firm and shaky at the same time. He's not sure if Patrick hears him or not, because Patrick's still trying to get air into his lungs, his wheezing getting louder and louder with each passing second, and he resumes his run.

He still has no idea where they're going, but as long as they're still in the same vicinity as the Government, he'll keep running.

There's the same pair of eyes following him. Brown. Calculating. Observing.

He tries to ignore it. Whatever it is, as long as it doesn't bring them harm, then he has no reason to attack it.

From the corner of his eyes, he can see lights upon lights from flashlights, and he sprints faster. Patrick's clutching tight onto him, fingers loosely twisted in his shirt as he tries his best to hold on. His breathing is getting faster and weaker at the same time, and his eyes are screwed shut, small streams of tears leaking from them.

His heart twists. If he weren't being so curious and didn't investigate the accident that happened almost a decade ago, maybe they both wouldn't be in this position.

Too focused with his thoughts on Patrick, he trips over a large root, sending them stumbling on the ground, Patrick falling a few feet away from him. He groans, pained, though he perseveres and gets up to get to Patrick.

But, as soon as he's up on his feet, a sharp pang of pain shoots up his leg, and he has to hold onto a nearby tree to support himself. He looks over to where Patrick is, his core turning cold when he notices how still Patrick is.

He tries to swallow his nerves, but they're stuck in his throat. He drops down next to Patrick, carefully rolling him onto his back, and his eyes begin to sting at how cold Patrick's skin is.

He knows it's not because of the chilly air.

“Damn it.  _Patrick.”_ He grits his teeth, trying to keep himself together. Although, his vision is beginning to blur with hot tears. “Patrick, hang in there. Come on. Use your magic or something. You  _can't—”_

A sob tears from his throat, interrupting his sentence. He's glad for it, though, because he doesn't want to say it out loud.

“Patrick,  _please.”_

A small breeze flows, carrying the sounds of rustling leaves and rushing footsteps.

He pulls Patrick up into a sitting position, cradling him to his chest. If the Government are coming to get Patrick, to tie him to the stake and burn him alive, then they'll have to get through him first.

Tears begin to sting at the back of his eyes. He knows they're getting closer to them, but he would—will— _never_ leave Patrick.

It's time like this he wishes Patrick would use his magic. They're outside the prison house, so there's no charm, no nothing to suppress Patrick's magic. But after almost a decade of being confined and not being able to use any of his magic, it would probably take Patrick a lot of energy to even do a simple spell.

He opens his eyes, rubbing them as he does so, when a soft whine comes from beside him.

It's the creature—a wolf—that he's seen many times around Patrick's prison house. He knows because he remembers those eyes. Brown.

The wolf comes closer and nuzzles against Patrick, its whining sounding far too much like a cry.

He feels Patrick shift in his arms, and he turns his attention to the witch, who is looking pale and blue and is smiling with glassy eyes at the wolf. Even though Patrick doesn't say anything, he can see the look in his eyes. One full of recognition and affection.

And the wolf. It continues to nuzzle against him, rubbing its muzzle against Patrick's face and neck, its body firm and sturdy, but its expression is soft and gentle.

That's when he realizes why the wolf is always around Patrick's place.

_The wolf is Patrick's familiar._

The touching and long-awaited reunion breaks his heart, because the resistant the Government put around the house must have kept Patrick and his familiar apart for  _a decade._

But now, something else occupies his mind. If a witch and their familiar are together, then—

“You can use your magic.” He blurts out, trying his hardest to hold back his tears at how shallow Patrick's breathing is. “Let's go to the hospital. Get you some help.”

But Patrick only smiles and closes his eyes, head tilted towards him, kissing just above his heart.

“No, Patrick—” He chokes out in tears, “don't you fucking  _dare.”_

In the distance, the footsteps are getting louder. Faster.

_“Don't move!”_

_“Put your hands up!”_

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out the noise and praying that when he opens his eyes, he'd be in a different place— _safe_ place, with Patrick, _healthy and breathing normally Patrick,_ and his familiar.

Patrick's lips brush against his chest, and he clutches Patrick tighter. Closer.

And when he opens his eyes, he finds himself at a lake, the body of water reflecting the blinking stars and the full moon. A soft crunch comes from behind him, and he whips around, heart slamming against his ribcage.

The wolf steps towards the lake before howling at the bright moon.

And Patrick's nowhere in sight.

**Author's Note:**

> can you guess who the wolf is? :)
> 
> don't forget to leave kudos and comments!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Taste Like Magic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12736596) by [blackandwhitebrendon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackandwhitebrendon/pseuds/blackandwhitebrendon), [halfsweet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfsweet/pseuds/halfsweet)




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